


Bucky Barnes and the Birth Blunder

by LavenderProse



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes is confused, Fluff, M/M, Marriage, Peggy Carter is Beautiful, Plot What Plot, Pregnancy, Steve Rogers is Technologically Inept, Strangers to Lovers, Texting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-05
Updated: 2016-04-05
Packaged: 2018-05-31 09:32:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6465088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LavenderProse/pseuds/LavenderProse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Good news!</i> reads a text that Bucky receives at five AM on a cold April morning, <i>Peggy went into labor last night! We're heading to the hospital now! Cartinelli baby on its way!!!!</i> The number is not one programmed into his phone, or even one he recognizes.<br/><i>Hey</i>, he texts back, <i>im super happy for u but i dont kno who u people are</i></p><p>Or: Steve needs to figure out how to work his phone and Bucky is Too Tired For This.<br/>Or: Tony Stark needs to inform his technologically inept friends when he changes his phone number.<br/>Or: None of this would have happened if it weren't for Justin Hammer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bucky Barnes and the Birth Blunder

**Author's Note:**

> It's been A Long Time since I posted anything and this really isn't A Thing but it's the closest thing to A Thing that I've had the time to sit down and write in its entirety. It's not very good and it doesn't make a lot of sense and it's based off a [Tumblr post](http://lavenderprose.tumblr.com/post/142280003099) for literally no other reason than the fact that it made me giggle once at one in the morning. I just wanted to remove myself from the funk that I'm in and I know that this doesn't really live up to the other stuff that I've written in the past but please take this as an offering and tidings of better things to come. Or something like that.
> 
> This is also not beta'd whatsoever. I finished it about five whole minutes before I posted it. I just wanted to get it done and get it out, so any mistakes are totally mine and the ending is trash because I, too, am trash but I hope you can find some enjoyment in this silly, silly little piece of my brain.

It's dawn when Bucky emerges from the front door of the hospital, pulling his jacket on over his scrubs. It's the first time he's seen sunlight in what feels like a week but what is realistically just over 48 hours, thanks to two 16 hour shifts in a row. Bucky's dog tired but feels alright, because it's mid-April and is just starting to get warm enough not to wear a coat everywhere and Bucky is just starting to Not Feel Always Sorry For Himself Because Winter. Almost as soon as his butt makes contact with the driver's seat of his car, his phone buzzes with an incoming text. It is from a number he doesn't recognize, apparently a group message sent to Bucky and half a dozen other unknown numbers.

 _Good news!_ the text reads, _Peggy went into labor last night! We're heading to the hospital now! Cartinelli baby on its way!!!!_

Aside from the gratuitous use of exclamation points, there really isn't anything objectionable about the text and in the situation, it's understandable why someone might text the wrong number. The text is from a 212 number, which means it's a local. Bucky also knows that he's only had this phone and the phone number for about a month, and has been getting texts from a multitude of confused people whom are not aware that the number has changed hands. Bucky has gotten enough random texts and phone calls to know that the person who held the phone number before him was named Tony and, apparently, was a bit of a flake. As such, Bucky sees no reason to respond or ask the texter to lose his number; he just slides his phone back into his pocket and leaves it alone.

He completely forgets about it in the time it takes him to get home, warm up some leftover Chinese, and flop down on the sofa in front of an episode of Kitchen Nightmares. He knows that after two sixteen hour shifts during which he only got a two-hour nap in, he should probably eat and go straight to bed, but he's so tired that he's weirdly wired. He needs to not move for a little while before he can truly fall asleep. This, of course, is the point at which everyone else in the texting group apparently checks their phones. They begin bombarding the group he is apparently now a member of with frantic recognition of the earlier text.

 _Excellent! The infant is much awaited!!!!_ responds someone whom Bucky is only capable of referring to as 212-555-3498, interrupting Bucky's digestion with a frantically vibrating pocket.

The original sender, 212-555-1918 responds: _Looks like it's going to be today! She's dialated to five centimeters, almost halfway!_

A third number, 212-555-9175: _I wouldn't be so sure, Steve. If she's only dilated five centimeters, it could be twelve hours or more before she has the baby._

A few seconds later, a number with an unfamiliar area code (Later, Bucky will Google it and find that it is the area code for the D.C. area) puts in: _I'm leaving NOW! Tell Pegs that she better hold that kid in until I'm there!_

Yet another 212 number, this one ending in 4981, a few seconds later: _They're still naming it Clint, right?_

Finally, a number that only shows up as 'unknown' texts: _no_

Usually, Bucky would be able to ignore such a barrage; there have been several days that he's picked his phone up only to realize it's been seven hours since he put it down, and he has 72 unread texts. However, the constant buzzing of his phone is really harshing his Gordon Ramsay groove, and he's too lazy to get off the sofa and toss it in his room.

 _Hey_ , he texts finally, _im super happy for u but i dont kno who any of u people are_

He puts his phone down and is treated to six whole minutes of blessed radio silence before 4981 texts _...lol_

 _Wait_ , texts 1918, _you're not Tony?_

Bucky sighs and rolls his eyes, because he knew it. This Tony guy can literally fuck off, with how much grief he's caused Bucky for the last few weeks. First, some dude wouldn't stop texting Bucky about robots or some shit like that. It was mostly tech mumbo-jumbo that Bucky barely understood, and the guy wouldn't stop texting and calling no matter how many times Bucky told him that he _wasn't this Tony dude_. Now it seems that 'Tony' forgot to inform his expectant friends that he'd changed his number.

 _No_ , Bucky responds, _and you wouldn't BEIEVE how many times someones asked me that in the last month_

 _Tony changed his number last month_. Texts 9175. _Justin Hammer somehow got his personal number and wouldn't stop calling him. Pepper and I told him that it would just be easier to get a new number than trying to block all of the numbers Hammer was contacting him from._

 _Ok yeah but could someone figure out how to take me out of this group?_ Bucky asks.

 _Does anyone know Tony's new number?_ 1918 asks, apparently content to completely ignore Bucky's request.

 _555-7893_ responds 9175, _but I'll be with him the whole day, no point in adding him to the group now._

 _Can someone PLEASE remove me from your group???_ Bucky pleads. He switches to proper grammar and punctuation to emphasize his distress. _My phone is ringing off the hook and I'm sure you're all wonderful people but I just worked two 16 hour shifts and I'm exhausted._

He tosses his phone to the end of the couch and shoves it down into the cushions, where he knows he will never be able to find it again but maybe that's for the best. He's starting to think that the unexpected responsibility of owning a phone number after 'Tony' is a little too much for one 29-year-old RN to handle.

Somehow, he manages to fall asleep without realizing it. He wakes up almost five hours later with a crick in his neck and netflix asking him if he's still there. He turns off the television and stands up, stretching to get the cricks out of his back. The empty takeout container is still on the coffee table but he chooses to leave it there after a moment of debate. He has neither the time nor the willpower required to clean anything right now and, frankly, the entire apartment is in dire need of deep cleanse; one more thing to pick up later is just one more.

He might not have even looked for his phone if he had not, in the process of migrating from the sofa to the hallway, patted his pocket and realized his phone was not in it. In his sleep-filled haze, he doesn't remember the events of earlier and spends the next fifteen minutes rooting around in the sofa. When he finally unearths it, almost dislocating his shoulder in the process, he unlocks the phone. It immediately tells him that he only has five percent battery left but, more importantly, he also has an absolutely unbelievable _148 unread text messages_.

"What the fuck," he mutters to himself as he opens the messages. This jogs his memory, as he sees that every single text but one is from the Baby Group—and the only one that isn't is a text from his sister which reads _Yo_ and nothing else.

He scrolls rapidly through the 147 texts in the group, none of them popping out at him until he comes to a series of pictures texted out by the creator of the group, whom Bucky has come to the relative certainty is named Steve. There are three; first a man and a woman, the woman very obviously the one in labor judging by the hospital scrubs and the red-tinged, sweat-beaded face. She has chocolate brown hair and warm hazelnut eyes, and even in the throes of labor is quite beautiful. The guy next to her, whom Bucky thinks might be Steve, is all smiles and blond hair and blue eyes and a golden brown beard that makes him look like he's in a World's Sexiest Lumberjack competition. They're a stunning couple, Bucky reflects from his bitter, bitter place in the Sad and Single Queer People Club.

The photo below it is done over the shoulder of some poor ultrasound technician and is focused on the green and grey blob that Bucky supposes is supposed to mean something. Steve has accompanied this picture with a text that says: _Baby hasn't descended yet D:_

The third picture is something of a non sequitur, because it looks to be of some random second woman and the first (pregnant) woman. She is incredibly expressive, with a huge smile on her pretty features. She, too, looks a little rumpled. Her hair is piled on top of her head and the shirt she's wearing looks like it's seen better days, but Bucky has seldom seen anyone whose happiness is more palpable through a picture. Perhaps a sister, Bucky thinks, but also perhaps just a close friend. The two women are holding hands over the bump in the covers.

He continues scrolling until he gets to the bottom text, which was sent only ten minutes ago and is from the man whose name Bucky thinks might be Clint, reads _Coolio._

Just to get some context, he scrolls up slightly and sees that Steve had sent a text reading _Doc says baby's probably not gonna be here for a few more hours D: he says Peggy should try to rest since she was up all night. So the girls and I are gonna turn out the lights and try to get some sleep in the meantime. I'll update you on Babywatch when I wake up._

Obviously, no one figured out how to remove him from the group.

He sighs and stuffs his phone into his pocket, and only barely remembers to plug it in and text his sister _yo_ back—because when she texts him single words out of the blue, it usually means that she's beginning to worry that he's either dead or dying—before collapsing into bed and sleeping for another six hours.

When he wakes up, only a dozen or so extra messages have been added to the rather prolific list, and most of them are the other members of the group conferring on when and how they all plan to arrive at the hospital. There is no further word from Steve, and in spite of himself Bucky texts _morning everyone, whats the word on Babygate?_

 _Morning?_ Comes the almost immediate reply from the D.C. number. _It's five o'clock._

 _it's morning whenever i say it's morning_.

 _Lol @ 7983_ texts the number whose owner may or may not be named Clint.

_Haha my name is Bucky. Since you guys cant seem to figure out how to remove me from this group and im weirdly emotionally invested at this point how are baby and mommy doing?_

_Baby and mommy are doing GREAT!_ Steve texts, possibly because his Senses were Tingling. _Pegs is almost fully dilated! There could be a baby within the next few hours! Sorry you got caught up in the baby birthing, by the way._

 _Nah it's good i'm more amused than anything now that ive gotten some sleep._ Bucky sends off the text and taps his phone against his thigh for a second, considering how nosy he wants to be. Eventually he comes to a conclusion of _extremely_ and sends off another message. _What hospital are you guys at?_

The reply from Steve is surprisingly prompt. _Brooklyn hospital center._

_No shit, thats where i work, i'm an rn. Who's your attending?_

_Morita._

_MORITAS MY BRO!!!_

_Lol!_

Although Bucky isn't sure this guy's friend group got the message that nobody unironically uses _lol_ anymore, he decides not to tell them that. After all, the guy is having a baby today and side from that, some part of Bucky thinks that the fall from grace of _lol_ might be something that would only be known by a man in his late twenties whose only social interaction outside of work was over social media, and he's not ready to reveal himself as quite that sad yet.

He texts _Next time he comes in tell him that Bucky said hi_ , and leaves his phone on the nightstand to take a shower.

At some point while he's in the shower, Steve apparently decides that he wants to talk to Bucky without the context of the group message, because when he unlocks his phone, there is a notification informing him that Steve has sent him a message in an entirely new conversation.

_Morita said to tell you fuck off. Should I be concerned?_

_Nah, hes just crabby._ He sits down on the end of his bed, towel and all, and puts Steve into his contacts because just having the number to recognize him by is starting to get irritating. As he's doing so, another text comes in from Steve.

_I hope it's alright that I put you in my contacts. Bucky, right? Sorry again about the group thing. I figured I should text you one on one since everyone's here now and every time I send off a text, ten people's phones go off._

_Yeah, its fine. And yeah, i'm bucky barnes._ Bucky abruptly realizes that he never confirmed that the person texting him is, in fact, named Steve. _Ur named Steve, right?_

_Yeah, Steve Rogers._

Bucky gets up to pull on a pair of scrubs and returns to his bedside table to shoot of _So… how far dilated is your wife?_

He waits for a moment, staring at the texting window with a small amount of dread. It hasn't been confirmed whether the beautiful woman Steve's been texting pictures of all afternoon is his wife, a friend, or something else entirely; if Steve confirms that she is indeed his spouse, another part of Bucky's sad and desperately single heart might fall off and die. Something about the sexy lumberjack look really does it for Bucky, even though there's roughly a 10% chance, even if Steve and 'Peggy' aren't together, that Steve is single.

Much to Bucky's chagrin, Steve does not reply. He sits there for a good seven or eight minutes waiting before it becomes clear that something else has snatched Steve's attention. Having realized this, Bucky wanders off to locate food before he leaves for work. When he checks his phone half an hour later before he walks out the door, Steve still hasn't answered. Bucky sends off a prayer that everything's okay on the baby-birthing front, pulls on his coat and walks out the door.

The subsequent eight-hour shift is much less eventful than the twenty-four hour one that had preceded it. Bucky spends most of it making his rounds, checking blood pressures and administering shots of morphine and insulin. He checks his phone what must be half a dozen times, but there is no word from Steve until what for Bucky is lunch and what for most other people would be a very late dinner. When Steve finally messages him again, it's a picture; Steve cradling a bundle of blue blankets. There's no face visible, but it's obvious that this is the newborn.

_Grant Carter Martinelli, born 7:15 04/03/16._

Because Bucky is constantly functioning on the 'asshole' setting, his only response is _You gave the kid three last names why?_

_Don't ask me, ask the moms. I'm not complaining; he's named after me :D_

_Moms as in plural? More than one mom?_

_Yeah. Problem?_

_Dude i'm like the gayest person I know._ As Bucky sends off that text, one of the aids pokes her head around the corner and tells him that the girl in room 419 is complaining of increased pain, so he sends off an extra text that says _Gotta go duty calls_ and shoves what's left of his lunch into the trash. It wasn't very good and, even after almost ten years of experience in the medical field, there's something about a young woman in pain that makes you lose your appetite.

At the end of his shift, he just happens to get into the same elevator as Jim Morita—who looks just about as wrecked as Bucky felt after his previous shift, although significantly more pleased with himself. Bucky figures that might have something to do with the fact that Jim's been delivering a baby instead of treating two dozen people with the same horrific form of food poisoning from the chicken served at a wedding reception, but that is neither here nor there.

"Hey," he says to announce himself. Jim turns around and gives him a rather impressive Stink Eye. "What's that for?"

"I'm beginning to think that you somehow know everyone," Morita mutters, "And I'm not sure how to feel about that. How do you even know Steve Rogers?"

"I literally do not know Steve Rogers. He tried texting some fucking tool named Tony whose number I somehow acquired, along with all of his Problems with a capital P, and I somehow got involved in the birth of his—what is that kid to him, anyway? I'm starting to realize that it's not his son."

"Technically, it is," Morita says slowly, "But only technically. The baby has two moms that are very happy to see him arrive, and Steve, along with being the purest specimen of humanity in possibly ever, is only too happy to play doting uncle."

Jim and Bucky spend a moment starting at each other as the elevator dings the floors.

"I want to climb him like a tree," Bucky announces.

Morita ejects the slightly hysterical laugh of the profoundly sleep deprived.

"I'm serious," Bucky says. "I've seen two pictures of the guy and known him for about a day, in all, but I can honest to God see myself picking out curtains with the guy. I want to make that boy my bride." Some of this is said for comedic affect, but there's a grain of truth to it which is somewhat concerning to a man who hasn't had a steady relationship in ten years.

"I can't decide if that's creepy or not," Jim wheezes through further manic giggles. The elevator comes to a stop in the lobby and he and Bucky both step out. Morita leans against the wall to combat the force of his own mirth.

"Oh, it definitely is. But the heart wants what the heart wants, Jimbo."

"If I tell you the room number, will you promise to never call me Jimbo ever again?" The Stink Eye has returned with a vengeance.

"Jim," Bucky says solemnly, "you have a deal."

This is how Bucky finds himself walking into room 821 a little over half an hour later, with an arrangement of flowers and a huge balloon in the shape of a crawling diaper-clad toddler that reads _IT'S A BOY!_ in powder blue text.

The first person he encounters is a bespectacled man whom, despite looking rather young, has the beginnings of grey at his temples. Bucky only really registers him as Not Steve, but takes a moment to nudge the guy and ask, "Is this, uh, Peggy's room?"

"Yeah," says Glasses, inching two fingers under his right lens to rub at his eye. "She might be asleep right now, but she's behind the curtain. Are you…a coworker? Or something?"

"Or something," Bucky mumbles, and continues into the room. He makes an attempt to announce himself but, without an actual door to knock on, he kind of just ends up punching the dividing curtain and whisper-shouting, " _Hello?_ " into the silent air in the hopes that someone on the other side of the curtain is awake enough to hear him.

It's Steve who appears around the curtain. His hair is all mussed on the side, like he's been sleeping at an awkward angle, and his clothes are rumpled like he hasn't changed them in a while which, Bucky supposes, is true enough. He takes in Bucky's presence and the items in his grasp before asking, "Hi, are you here to see Peggy? She's kind of out of it, but I'll ask her if she's up to seeing visitors."

"I'm Bucky," Bucky says, before Steve can walk away. "I, uh…work. In the hospital. And…I thought. Since I knew about the…baby. I'd." He looks at the balloon, and then at the flowers, and something that feels an awful lot like shame rises in him. "I…er, y'know, this was a stupid idea. Here, you can take these and I'll—" He transfers the balloon and the flowers into Steve's grasp, all while Steve persists in this strange, perplexed look that gives Bucky absolutely no clue as to what the guy is feeling. "Also, um, as a medical professional and a three-times-over uncle, I can tell you all of the formula and diaper brands that are least likely to be mass-produced in Tibet, and I can also give advice on—"

"Wait," Steve says, and Bucky can almost see the slow, trickling stream of thought finally empty into the lake of his mind, "You brought us…gifts. Even though you don't know us?"

"Yeah, I mean…a child was born, huzzah, new life created." Bucky waves his hands briefly about his head. "Or something like that."

"Oh. Well…that was really nice." Steve smiles, and Bucky's heart constricts. "This may be out of line, but…are you seeing anyone?"

"Oh my God," Bucky immediately blurts. "No, oh my God. I'm so painfully single that sometimes I can actually _hear_ my biological clock when I'm alone at night. But I'm also pretty grumpy and pretty selfish and I have a job which sometimes requires me to work eighty-hour weeks and all of that has culminated in me not having a significant romantic relationship since before I graduated college. And once I'm in a relationship I'm like insanely clingy because I grew up in foster care with only my sister and when someone cares about me the thought of losing them terrifies me." Because his verbal filter has apparently been turned off, Bucky actually has to make a conscious decision to stop the flow of words out of his mouth. He puts so much effort into the endeavor that the momentum sends him stumbling back a foot. He nods at Steve and finishes, "Just in case you…wanted. To know."

"So…am I supposed to tell you my whole life story now?" Steve inquires, and Bucky groans and covers his face. Steve chuckles and continues in the same teasing tone, "I guess fair's fair, huh? So let's see…I also have a job that requires me to work a crazy number of hours most of the time, and it has the added bonus of almost constantly putting me at risk of being shot or otherwise maimed. I have some pretty serious anger management issues and I've spent most of my life getting myself into fights that I wasn't sure I could win. I'm asthmatic, deaf in one ear, and my heart is a literal ticking timebomb that could kill me at any second—but might not ever do anything, at the same time. I've been diagnosed with clinical depression. When I was in college, I got a girl pregnant and I was young and stupid so I let her take full custody of my daughter—I don't know where either of them are now."

"Oh," Bucky says softly. "You didn't have to say all of that."

Steve smiles and gives a small shrug. "It was all gonna come out eventually—if I take you out on a date. Which I really want to. Because from what I've seen you're grumpy but also funny, and totally not selfish if you brought a bunch of almost total strangers gifts just because you accidentally got texted a few pictures." He suddenly opens his mouth hugely wide in what Bucky realizes after a moment is a yawn. "I'm also probably going to regret saying all of that when I'm not running on four hours of sleep out of the last fourty-eight, but I'm willing to bet that I'll still want to take you to dinner. So how about it?"

"How about you keep my number," Bucky says slowly, "and text me when you're a little less tired, and we'll go from there?"

Steve gives another one of those soft smiles, and nods slightly. "Yeah, I like the sound of that."

Bucky nods and smiles, holds out his hand for Steve to shake. Steve's hands are large and warm and dry, just on the right side of too calloused, and Bucky hasn't had sex in probably just about a year so just that palm-to-palm contact is enough to want Steve's hands all over his body, but he restrains himself as any decent human being should and makes his exit.

As he walks by, Glasses lets out an enormous snore. Bucky sighs and tells him, "Me too, bro."

He thinks he hears a stuttering laugh from the other side of the curtain.

* * *

"Grant! Grant, look at the camera." Bucky adjusts the toddler in his lap and points over his shoulder. "Look, look at Mommy. See the silly face Mommy's making? Yeah, there you go."

Angie laughs as she snaps the picture, and not a moment too soon because just a moment later Grant's off, toddering away to go investigate something under a tree. Bucky sincerely hopes it's not a bug, because he still has flashbacks to rushing a six-month-old Grant to the ER only to find out that the mark on his arm was a benign spider bite, and not the poisonous one they suspected it to be.

It's a little too light outside for the picture to come across fully, but Bucky can see the main features; Grant with his platinum blond hair and intermittently toothed smile. Grant took almost all of his looks from Peggy, and only a few incidental features read of Steve; the hair and the shape of his nose, most notably. Bucky suspects that Grant will look a lot more like Steve when he's older, but for right now he's like a mini-Peggy, minus the hair.

"God," Bucky drawls, squinting at the picture, "it's hard to believe he's already two."

"I know, right?" Angie enthuses as she texts the picture to Bucky. "Seems like just yesterday he was this big." Angie mimes cradling an object that's roughly the side of a load of bread.

"Yeah, and now another one on the way." They both turn their attention briefly to Peggy, who's standing near the buffet table with one hand on her swelling belly and the other cradling a glass of sparkling grape juice. Bucky typically finds pregnancy to be beautiful in that 'Growing a new life' way that most mammals are inherently fascinated by, but Peggy is the very definition of _glowing_ and it's sort of amazing. To Angie, he says, "Your wife is, like, the most beautiful pregnant person I've ever seen. I think she might even look _better_ pregnant."

"Oh my God, tell me about it," Angie groans, dragging a hand down her face. "It's like…indecent, how much I just always want to be touching her. Ugh. She's so gorgeous."

Bucky turns his head and grins at her for a moment, because he's just so happy that his friends are in love and living the life that makes them happy. Angie gives him a look like she would flip him off if they weren't surrounded by family and friends, and he turns his attention back to Grant, who's crawling around under the tree and making a mess of his little tux. They watch him for a while, until it becomes clear that it is, indeed, a bug that Grant is trying to pick up. Angie sighs and groans, "Not again." Off she goes, yelling something in Italian that Bucky doesn't catch but which her mother does—if the bellow of _Angela Cecilia Martinelli!_ is anything to go by.

She's replaced a moment later by her wife, whom arrives with a delicate whiff of apple blossom perfume to announce herself, and does not even wait for Bucky to acknowledge her presence before saying, "How is everything going with Steve and Lila?"

"Oh," Bucky sighs, glancing around for Steve and finding him in what looks like a somewhat awkward dance with said ten-year-old. "It's a learning process. She's over every other weekend now. And she's starting to get into that preteen phase now so everything's too cool for her, but all in all things are going well. It's gotta be weird to find out at age nine that your father exists—and that he wants to meet you." Four or five months after they met, Steve abruptly decided that he was tired of not knowing his own child—and set out to find both Lila and her mother. It took about six months and quite a bit of money that they didn't really have, but they eventually found them. They lived in Florida at the time, however, so until about four months ago, Steve had only seen his daughter a handful of times. Then, very suddenly, Lila and her mother moved back up to New York. It's been a major adjustment, especially considering Steve and Bucky had just moved in together at the time, but it's been a change for the better.

"I'm sure it is," Peggy says. "I still can't believe Loraine did that to him. I never liked her."

"I think they did it to each other," Bucky says. "They were young and stupid and scared. Never a good combination." She takes a sip and swallows, then looks abruptly up and stares into the middle distance. Bucky waits several moments for her to give an explanation before, very slowly, asking, "Are you…okay?"

"I'm trying to decide if I'm hungry or nauseous," Peggy says. She sits there for a further minute or so before announcing, "Hungry," and rising to return to the food table.

He's left alone for a few minutes, which he uses to loosen his bowtie and try to wrangle his hair back into an acceptable state. With the wind still blowing, it doesn't seem likely to happen, so he eventually gives up. He sees Steve coming up in the camera of his phone, which he's been using as a mirror, and grins at him in the camera.

"Hey, take a picture with me," Bucky says, reaching out behind himself for Steve's hand. Steve comes closer and leans down until his head is nestled against Bucky's shoulder, wraps an arm around the front of his shoulders until the gold of the new ring on his finger reflects the sun. Bucky holds up his own left hand and takes the picture. It isn't great; there's really too much glare. He sends it off in a text anyway, in a message group of the people who were either too busy (Natasha and Sam) or too lazy (Tony) to come to the wedding. Along with the picture, he texts _The new Mr. and Mr. Barnes-Rogers_ with about two dozen heart emojis following.

"Damn, look at us," Bucky says, pulling the photo back up. "Have you ever seen such a pair of absolute dorks?"

"Hey, be nice, that's my husband you're talking about," Steve says, taking the seat next to Bucky.

"Oh my God," Bucky says flatly. "You are literally the worst. I already want a divorce."

"Good thing you signed a prenup," Steve replies, leaning forward to steal a kiss.

"Yes. Because there are so many things I could take from you in the divorce. Like your 800 thread count sheets. Or your copy of the Hamilton playbill signed by Jonathon Groff."

"That playbill will be worth a lot of money someday. It's part of Lila's college fund."

Bucky would have replied had his phone not chosen that moment to vibrate twice in rapid succession. He pulls it out and unlocks it, finds that both new texts are in response to the recently sent picture. The first response is also a picture, Sam and Natasha in what looks like an airport somewhere and each with a single thumbs up. This accompanied by the text: _Congratulations. May you continue to be disgustingly in love for the rest of your lives_.

The second text is from Tony—or Tony's number. It reads _Hey, congratulations but I don't know you guys haha_.

"Oh my God," Bucky groans. Steve erupts into a laughter so ferocious that he almost falls out of his seat. "I'm gonna murder Tony Stark."

"It just fits though, doesn't it?" Steve chortles, "It just _fits_."

"Yeah," Bucky sighs, closing his phone and glancing around at their wedding guests, "it does."


End file.
